


Free Fall

by lirallya



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirallya/pseuds/lirallya
Summary: After the Exalted Council disbands the Inquisition, former Inquisitor Lira Trevelyan experiences an identity crisis. Cullen Rutherford helps her see a way forward. One-shot.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t planning to publish anything on AO3 until I completed my in-progress longfic, but I was inspired to write this slice-of-life moment while working on a recent chapter. This may end up being a related bonus chapter to the main story when it’s eventually published. Or it may end up not fitting into my “canon” after all. Either way, hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

_And at once, I knew I was not magnificent_

_Strayed above the highway aisle_

_Jagged vacance, thick with ice_

_But I could see for miles, miles, miles_

**_-Bon Iver, “Holocene”_ **

* * *

Lira Trevelyan had played many roles in her life. 

First, she was a _daughter_. The last-born child of Bann and Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick, Lira came into the world squawking and squalling, already discontented with her situation. Being the youngest of six children imbued her with the stubborn sense that she constantly had something to prove. 

Being the youngest of six children also made Lira a _sister_. She struggled to carve out her place among her siblings. 

Declan, _the heir_ , and Cedrik, _the scholar_ , were boys close in age, and naturally close in kinship as well. They lived in a separate world of diplomacy and business dealings that Lira had little access to.

Mari, _the initiate_ , was born pious and perfect; she spoke the Chant of Light before she ever said “mama” or “dada.” Lira could scarcely recall spending much time with Mari before she devoted her life to the Maker.

Aylin, _the mage_ , and Trystan, _the templar_ , were twins just a year older than Lira herself, but in possession of a rare bond only attainable by those who had shared a womb. Once they went off to the Ostwick Circle Tower together they faded from Lira’s life almost completely. 

Ultimately, time would prove Lira to be both a defiant daughter and a quarrelsome sister. In a family where all the obvious roles had already been filled, Lira’s only option— or so she had concluded in her adolescent wisdom — was to be the _rebel._

Her early rebellions bore the clumsy fingerprints of youth. She loosed chickens in the chantry during services. She replaced key words in the Chant of Light with bawdy counterparts. She rolled around the floor of the castle chapel, speaking in tongues and claiming to be possessed by the spirit of Andraste herself.

As Lira blossomed into adolescence, her rebellion took on more libertine forms. There was no shortage of eager boys around Ostwick whom Lira could run wild, scandalizing her mother at every opportunity. This behavior carried forward into adulthood. 

And thus Lira too played the role of _lover._ She kept her feelings close, using her trysts as a means to attack her parents or satisfy an immediate physical urge. Lira celebrated the moment her mother finally gave up on the prospect of her wayward daughter settling into a respectable marriage.

Once she reached an age where her father deemed it suitable for her to travel alone, Lira was rarely found within the walls of Ostwick. An itinerant socialite, Lira availed herself of the hospitality of the other Free Marcher cities. She became a popular fixture among the bars and inns of central Thedas — with a little help from her father’s deep coffers. 

From intractable child to frivolous young adult, Lira’s life was defined by a vague emptiness, a nagging sense that something was absent. She could drown it out with a liquid cure, or suppress it under the weight of a stranger’s body, but the relief was always temporary. In quiet moments the hollowness gnawed at her, begging to be fed. She resigned herself to the fact that she might never figure out what was missing.

That all changed at the Conclave.

Bann Trevelyan sent Lira to Ferelden as an official member of the Trevelyan delegation to the Divine’s Conclave. “To assist her relatives,” he’d said. Lira suspected he just wanted to get rid of her for a while. What she could possibly do to assist the mage-templar negotiations was beyond her, but she went along for lack of anything better to do. 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was blown to bits, taking Lira’s charmed life along with it. She had walked into the Conclave an unremarkable noblewoman; she walked out a murder suspect, a prisoner. 

And then she was the _Herald_ . Or _heretic_ , depending on who you asked _._ Lira hated that title — _Herald of Andraste._ She wasn’t a devout Andrastian. Or much of an Andrastian at all, except when she invoked the prophet’s name as part of a string of colorful curses. In fact, Lira believed Andraste was probably just a normal woman who got swept up in events that spiraled out of her control. 

Lira could relate.

Serving as the receptacle for the Chantry’s ire felt familiar, too. Only in Haven it was magnified. Once the scourge of her local Ostwick chantry, now a pariah of the entire Chantry of southern Thedas. 

And yet, it was the start of something. The mark — the Anchor, as Solas called it — made Lira special. Objectively special, given she was the only one who had it, but it was something more. It was like a long dormant part of her suddenly roused from sleep, still drowsy, but nonetheless aware. 

At first, Cassandra dragged her around the Hinterlands, only calling on her to close Fade rifts. Lira felt like she was just another weapon on the Seeker’s belt. But at some point there was a shift. Cassandra realized Lira could hold her own in a fight, and encouraged her to call the shots on the battlefield. Her companions looked to her to make decisions. The startling realization that people looked to her as a _leader_ shook Lira to the core. What’s more, it felt _right._

With the destruction of Haven and the discovery of Skyhold, _Herald_ turned into _Inquisitor_. For the first time Lira felt a sense of destiny. The Anchor may have earned her an automatic place among the Inquisition, but she had risen to the role of _Inquisitor_ through her own actions. When Cassandra named her as such in front of the gathered crowd, it was as if Lira was finally standing in precisely the right place at precisely the right moment. People — _her people_ — cheered her with eyes full of hope and wonder. It was like slipping into a role that had been there all along, just waiting for Lira to be ready to embrace it. 

Lira couldn’t exactly place when this particular transition happened, but with some of her companions, _leader_ shifted to _friend_. Lira had childhood playmates, and collected many acquaintances over the course of her vagrant youth, but she never established the deeper bonds that turned _acquaintance_ into _friend_.

Lira and her companions forged their bonds in the fire of battle, but it was in the quieter moments in between that friendship truly blossomed —drinking until dawn in the Herald’s Rest, making outrageous and unpayable bets with Varric and Blackwall over games of Wicked Grace; challenging Iron Bull to feats of strength she was destined to lose, but happy to compete in all the same; poking gentle fun at Cassandra whenever she caught her tucked away in some corner with a romance novel. 

Talking late into the night with Dorian, oblivious to the passage of time. Sipping tea and pronouncing judgement on the common rabble. Gently ribbing one another in the way that only the best of friends can do. The awareness that she had a _best friend_ for the first time in her life. The sense that _this_ is what having a brother was supposed to feel like. 

These people were more than her friends, more than her comrades in arms; they were her _family_.

And Cullen... well, that was the most surprising of all. If developing such strong friendships caught Lira off-guard, then _falling in love_ completely bowled her over. Her romantic relationships thus far had been marked by a distinct lack of attachment. But one stolen kiss on the battlements changed everything. 

_Daughter. Sister. Rebel. Friend. Lover. Herald. Inquisitor._ Each came with its own unique set of challenges and frustrations. She’d risen to all of them with varying degrees of success. But this new role was perhaps her most vexatious one yet. 

_Just Lira._

Lira stood in her quarters at Skyhold, taking a mental inventory of her belongings. Well, not _her_ quarters anymore. She had the Exalted Council to thank for that. Given the choice between becoming the Chantry’s lapdogs and disbanding entirely, the decision was easy. Even with Leliana as Divine, Lira couldn’t stomach the idea of operating under Chantry authority. And with the Inquisition disbanded, it didn’t make sense to stay at Skyhold. Ferelden and Orlais both were keen to rid themselves of the Inquisition's military force. 

The intervening years between Corypheus’ defeat and the Exalted Council had been marked by a growing sense of unease; the unshakeable feeling of drawing close to an ending, but with an end so nebulous and ill-defined that it seemed to lurk around every corner. No more rifts to seal, no more red templars to vanquish, no more world to save. The more they put the world to right, the more restless Lira became. 

When the Exalted Council was called, Lira’s uneasy feelings solidified into an inexorable dread. Whatever the council decided was inevitably going to change the nature of the Inquisition. In so many ways it had already changed. Lira’s days were marked by letter-writing and lunching with diplomats rather than swinging her axe and sealing Fade rifts. The Exalted Council was merely the final death knell of the ephemeral Inquisition. 

And so Lira stood, trying to determine if it was worth the effort to drag her bed to Therinfal Redoubt. She’d become quite fond of that bed, after all.

Divine Victoria granted Cullen a tract of land in central Ferelden in which to base his templar rehabilitation center; one that happened to include Therinfal Redoubt. Ironic, that the same place where the templar order was corrupted by red lyrium should now serve to free templars from their lyrium leashes. 

Leaving Skyhold felt wrong, but then so did staying. What was Skyhold without the Inquisition? Without her friends? Dorian returned to Tevinter, Varric ruling Kirkwall, Cassandra rebuilding the Seekers, Bull and the Chargers roaming the world once again, Blackwall off to right the wrongs of his past. Skyhold may have been her home, but Lira came to realize _home_ was more than the dwelling itself; it was the people you shared those walls with. She supposed Therinfal Redoubt would come to feel like home, in time. 

Lira sighed and turned from the room, stepping out onto the balcony instead. Her breath came out in frosty puffs. She’d miss the chilly mountain air. There was something pure and clean about, something you couldn’t find among the farms and fields of Ferelden. Crisper and fresher, too, than the salt tang air she’d breathed growing up by the Waking Sea. 

The stone rail was cool beneath her palm. Lira looked down at the abbreviated stump of her left arm. Sometimes she could still feel it, could still _see_ it, if she closed her eyes. Reflexively, she’d reach for something only to find empty air grasping at nothing. 

Sometimes she still felt the Anchor, too. She recalled vividly the way it sizzled to life in her palm and arced up her arm like a lightning bolt. There were no more Fade rifts to seal, but her phantom palm still itched. The loss of the Anchor, more than even the arm itself, pained her. Without it Lira came unmoored, set adrift in the sea of her life without a heading.

What was she now? 

No longer the Inquisitor. No longer the Herald. No one to lead. Crippled, unable to fight. Friends scattered to the wind. Everything that gave her life meaning was cut away, one slice after another. That old, familiar ache settled in her stomach. Not a feeling, but rather the lack of one. She thought the hollowness had been eradicated for good, yet here it was to haunt her once more. She feared what she might do in an attempt to fill that void. 

It almost felt like moving backwards. Or rather, that her life had already come full circle. Here she was, at the end of the line, her purpose fulfilled. Her usefulness all dried up like an old well. She could look back with perfect clarity, see her life sprawled out in reverse. But the path in front of her was dark. The surety she felt as Inquisitor evaporated like the breath escaping her lips. 

Lira’s eyes scanned the jagged lines of the Frostbacks. They seemed to carry on forever. But Lira knew better. She was going somewhere the mountains would be far from view. Her eyes drank them in, savoring what may well be her last view of the range from this vantage. 

Lira’s eyes flitted down to where the walls of the castle merged with the solid bedrock of the mountain. Where the clean lines of hewn stone melded into the raw, rough rock below. The backs of her knees twinged as her mind registered the staggering height. A gust of wind swept across the platform, rattling Lira’s bones. She gripped the railing tightly, bracing against the wind. 

She was reminded of the final battle against Corypheus. The magic holding the earth aloft gave way once Lira sent the corrupted magister into the Fade. She recalled falling, falling, falling...then nothing. She couldn’t remember the hurt, though she knew her body lay broken among the rubble. It had been easy to accept death, then, knowing she’d defeated the enemy. 

Or perhaps it was because Lira never expected to live past that final confrontation with Corypheus. 

Lira imagined herself falling now. There was so much empty space between her and the ground, she imagined it would be like sinking under the water in a deep pool. A peaceful descent, drowning in air. Would she even feel it when her body hit the ground? Maybe there would be pain — just a flash — before her bones shattered. Before she succumbed to the darkness. There’d be no more pain after that. No more hollow ache where her sense of purpose used to be. It would be a small thing, a simple transition from one state of being to another. How easy it would be to lean over the rail, just a little too far…

Lira closed her eyes and leaned into the wind. Cold currents of air caressed her cheek, threaded their icy fingers through her hair. They tugged at her, urging her forward. They whispered to her: _just let go._

“Lost in thought?” 

Lira’s head snapped up towards the voice that interrupted her dark thoughts. A familiar voice, warm and comforting, dispelled the wind. That voice spread over her, seeped into her skin like a balm to soothe the cold, hard edges of her sorrow. 

“Just _lost_ ,” Lira sighed.

Cullen smiled warmly as he joined her on the balcony. His smile was always warm and welcoming, like returning home to a crackling fire after a day in the snow. He wore simple travelling clothes, his Commander armor packed away. Seeing him dressed plainly made everything feel all the more final.

“Well I have an excellent sense of direction, so perhaps I can help.” Cullen slid his hand across the rail until it covered hers.

Guilt and shame snaked their twin tendrils around Lira’s heart as she looked up at him. She could hardly meet his eye after entertaining such thoughts as she just had. Would he be able to tell, just from looking at her?

“It’s just…” Lira began. She bit her lip. “Once we leave here, then it’s really all over. For good, this time.”

“Only _you_ would be sad about finally having a little peace and quiet,” Cullen said with a lopsided smirk. 

The corners of Lira’s mouth tugged her lips into an involuntary smile. Cullen could always manage to coax a smile out of her, even when she was determined to be miserable. 

“You know what I mean,” she said, forcing her lips back into a straight line.

“Listen, Lira. I know it feels like an ending. And it is, in some ways. There’s no denying that. But it’s also a beginning. We’re free to start a new life at Therinfal now. We can move forward, without the end of the world threatening us at every turn.”

How could she explain to Cullen that she couldn’t see the way forward? It was a new beginning for _him_ ; he had a task, a purpose that would carry him above the murky waters of uncertainty where Lira currently found herself drowning. She was just a tag-along. 

“I suppose,” Lira muttered. “Just… what exactly am I supposed to do?” She gestured helplessly with her amputated limb.

“You can do whatever you want,” Cullen said.

“Not _whatever_ I want,” she replied. “I tried swinging my axe with one arm and nearly cut off my foot.” 

Cullen laughed lightly, but Lira didn’t so much as crack a smile. “You don’t need to fight anymore, Lira.” 

“I know I don’t need to. But what if I _want_ to? What if I don’t know any other way?”

Cullen’s eyes searched hers. He looked like he desperately wanted to give her the answers she wanted. But Lira knew he didn’t have them. No one did. 

She frowned and looked out over the mountains. Her eyes traveled down again, fixed on the rocks below. Cullen followed her line of sight. His hand tensed on top of hers for the briefest of moments. He exhaled. 

“I’ve... told you about my time at the Greenfell Chantry, yes?” Cullen asked. “Where they sent me after… after what happened at Kinloch Hold?”

Lira turned her gaze towards him. He looked out at the mountain vista, his eyes far away. He rarely spoke of his ordeal in the Ferelden Circle, and even less often of what happened during that time before he took up his post in Kirkwall. 

“Yes…” Lira said slowly, unsure where this was going. 

“I was a mess,” Cullen admitted. He pushed one hand through his curls and rubbed the back of his neck. “Everything I believed to be true about myself was called into question. I thought I was strong. I thought my templar training would save me from anything a demon could throw at me. But what happened in that mage prison… it broke me. I couldn’t see a way back to my life, to being a templar...any of it.”

Cullen paused, as if weighing the decision to continue. Lira watched his face intently, but dared not interrupt. Finally, he spoke again. “There were times, in my darkest moments there, where I thought it would be easier to simply...die.”

Lira sucked in a sharp breath; the cold air stuck to her throat. Of course Cullen knew what she was thinking. 

“I didn’t want to kill myself,” he added quickly. “I just wanted to… not exist, anymore. It seemed easier than dealing with my thoughts, my nightmares. I spent nights begging the Maker to take me. Every morning I woke up, still alive, was a disappointment.” 

Lira swallowed. Cullen had distilled her formless thoughts to their essential meaning. It wasn’t that she wanted to die; it was that existence had become overwhelming, exhausting to the point of being unbearable. Lira had thrived with the weight of the world pressing down on her. Without that pressure, she had too much freedom.

“I felt like I was slowly drowning,” he went on. “Just slowly bobbing there in the dark, waiting to finally sink. I can’t even say for sure how much time passed. Eventually the days and nights all ran together.”

Lira looked up at him in mild surprise. He continued to put voice to her very thoughts. “How did you get past it?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

His mouth curved into a small smile. “It started as a tiny voice in the back of my mind. A voice so small I almost ignored it. But it told me that I _was still alive_ . It had to _mean_ something. After all that had happened… I was still _here_. Slowly that idea grew, took on life until it became a beacon for me in the darkness. I clung to it, began repeating the words aloud. _I’m still alive._ The Chantry initiates who cared for me must have thought me mad. But I decided then and there I wasn’t going to let some blood mage, some demon, reduce my life to this desperate misery. I was still alive, and by the Maker I was going to _make_ it mean something.” 

Cullen gripped her hand tightly. He looked into her eyes with such intensity Lira felt a compulsion to draw back. The conviction in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“Lira, even if you can’t see your purpose now, I _promise_ you it’s there. You’ll figure it out. _We’ll_ figure it out. Together. No matter how long it takes.”

It struck her then, and she felt foolish for not recognizing it earlier. These past few weeks she’d felt utterly alone, consumed by the singular notion that her life was now over. But there was another role she’d failed to consider. There was another role she played. _Had been_ playing for some time now, without fully appreciating its significance.

 _Partner._

Lira thought she’d opened her heart to Cullen, but apparently there was still a piece she held back. The impulse to handle everything on her own was strong. Despite learning how to work as a team, how to lean on others in battle, in diplomacy... managing her emotions had remained a solitary endeavor. She hadn’t even recognized that she was still doing it — it just felt natural to bottle her feelings up, every emotion kept neat and tidy contained in her own head.

But Cullen _wanted_ to share her burdens. He’d made it clear time and again he could be trusted to safeguard her heart. Yet now Lira understood a part of her had secretly feared their relationship would end with the Inquisition. Perhaps she had always known it, but had carefully avoided lingering on the thought too long, lest it manifest into reality. Cullen had always included her in his future plans. Lira, to her shame, had held herself back from including him in hers.

How silly, Lira thought, that it should take her this long to get here. 

“What is it?” Cullen asked, a curious expression on his face.

“I...just now realized something, that’s all,” Lira replied. 

“Oh? What’s that?”

“That perhaps you were right about that excellent sense of direction of yours.” Lira looked up at him with an impish smirk. 

Cullen’s shoulders relaxed. He exhaled a breath and followed it up with a wide smile. “Good.”

He pulled her in an embrace and Lira let herself sink into it. She inhaled his scent, oakmoss and elderflower. She let the warmth of his body flow over her. The world suddenly felt a little less cold, a little less empty. _This_ was something she could safely drown in. 

It remained unclear what came next, but Lira felt a tiny spark of hope flicker to life in the void. Cullen had returned from the brink, had faced the darkness and beat it back. She could do the same, with a little help. 

They broke apart, but Cullen remained close. His eyes radiated the affection he felt for her. The admiration. _If he can still see me like this_ , Lira thought, _perhaps I can too._

“Are you ready to go?” 

Lira glanced briefly back into the room. None of the furniture felt particularly important to bring along anymore. Her clothes were packed, her weapons stowed away. There was nothing left in Skyhold that she needed. 

She turned to face the Frostbacks again. The sun gleamed off the snowy peaks, sending golden sprays of light across the craggy landscape. This time, Lira’s gaze didn’t drop to the rocks below. Her eyes traveled the mountains until they grew hazy and indistinct against the horizon. She took one last deep breath, filled her lungs with enough mountain air to sustain her through whatever came next.

Lira smiled up at Cullen. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
